


Taking a Ride

by Basingstoke



Category: Queer as Folk (UK), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuart and Vince on their American adventures!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a Ride

**Author's Note:**

> The towns are real. Fields of Fair is real. Kansas is lovely in the winter.
> 
> Thanks to Cara and Random for looking this over.

* * *

"It _is_ your fault! You're the one who insisted on turning off the motorway. Just figure out where the hell we are," Stuart snapped. He coasted the jeep down one hill and gunned it up the next, glaring at the road.

"I didn't! I just said I wanted lunch. We could have stopped anywhere." Vince traced the interstate with his finger, trying to figure out where they had gone wrong.

"Three miles to Manhattan! Bloody hell, Vince, we're in New York!"

"No, we're still in fucking Kansas." Vince found the turnoff and the town. "It looks right big, this town. It says there's a university."

Stuart grinned, his bad mood gone as fast as it came on. "Oooh, college boys."

Vince hit him with the folded map. "Look, I'm just saying! We should stop. You've been driving for eight hours, straight through since Denver, and you haven't slept in two bloody days! You must be going mental."

"I'm fiiiiiiine. I'm ready for some cowboys, I can tell you. I want to start some trouble. Where are the cowboys? I want to shag a cowboy."

Vince laughed. "You're E'd. And the cowboys are probably hiding, or else they've turned into insurance salesmen. It is the twenty-first century, you know."

They crossed a river and passed a mall. Somehow, the highway turned into a side street. "Vince, where the fuck are we?" Stuart glared at "Sam's Appliance Repair" as if he had a personal grudge.

"Dunno. Keep going." Vince squinted at the map. "Map's too small. Turn around and get back on the highway and we'll go somewhere else."

"No, I want to eat now... Let's go to the mall." Stuart peered down the cross-streets. "We just passed it, right? It should be close, right?"

Vince dropped the map and shrugged. "Turn right. It was on the right."

They turned right down a brick street that let Vince know his arse really _did_ hurt after sitting in the car all day, and then right again onto a street that had not only lights, but more than one lane, and there was the mall at the end. "Cowboys," Stuart said. "I want cowboys, Vince. Bring them to me."

"Just park the car."

"Look! There's a horseshoe in the window!" Stuart pointed at an antique store. "Do you want to eat at the Burger King?"

"An inch of cock for every ten pounds of fat, Stuart."

"Oh! Shit. Yeah." He turned right at the corner with the Burger King and headed into the mall parking lot across the street. "Brown rice and dark vegetables for me."

* * *

  


"_Don't _pull over!" Vince looked over his shoulder at the hitchhiker as Stuart slowed.

"I'm pulling over."

"You don't know who he is! He could be a deranged killer!"

"Honestly, Vince." Stuart braked hard and started backing up in the deserted road. "Not all Americans are armed. Some of them are really quite peace-loving."

"Not the ones that stand by roadsides," Vince grumbled, but there was no stopping Stuart.

Stuart drew even with the hitchhiker and hit the button lowering the windows. Vince leaned away as the hitchhiker leaned in.

"Need a ride?" Stuart asked.

"Desperate for one," the man replied. Up close he didn't look quote as dodgy; he was dressed in black motorcycle leathers and covered in dust, but he was clean-shaven and didn't stink. Given a bath, he might be rather handsome.

"Do you have a ten-gallon hat?" Stuart asked.

The man looked puzzled. "No."

"Have you ever ridden a horse?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever roped a, bugger, a baby cow?"

"Calf. And no."

"Eh, well, you'll do anyway. Where are you heading?" Stuart leaned over Vince, grinning. Flirting.

"East."

"Kansas City?"

"As far east as I can get," the man said, shoving his hair back from his eyes. A smile darted across his face.

"We can take you to Kansas City. Shove over, Vince, and let him in." Stuart elbowed Vince.

Vince reluctantly climbed out of the jeep to let the hitchhiker into the back seat. He had only a messenger bag and helmet with him. Vince eyed his arse, looking for guns.

 

"I'm Stuart," Stuart said as Vince got back in the jeep. "This sad bastard is Vince. He didn't want to pick you up."

Vince glared at himself in the wing mirror. "Oh, give it a rest."

"I'm Fox. And that's okay. You never know who you're picking up."

"You're not a mad killer, are you, Fox?" Stuart's voice was full of mocking. Vince refused to look at him.

"No." Fox gave a little cough of a laugh. "Not in this lifetime."

Stuart hit the gas. Vince rested his head against the window and closed his eyes.

 

"So what's your story...Fox?"

"I was traveling east on my bike when I hit a wet patch and went off the road into a field near the winery."

"Winery?"

"Did you not notice the winery down the road?"

Stuart hit the brakes, jolting Vince nearly into the dashboard before his seatbelt caught him. "We are turning around _immediately_." Stuart swerved into the median strip.

"STUAAAART!"

* * *

  


"How did I not notice this? It's huge!" Stuart shouted as he pulled into the Fields of Fair Winery parking lot.

"I was wondering," Fox said.

Vince closed his eyes and breathed deeply, checking his bits to make sure they were all there. "You could have gotten us killed. Five or six times in the last half-hour."

"But I didn't."

"But you could have!"

Kiss on his cheek. Vince opened his eyes and looked at Stuart accusingly. Stuart just grinned and slipped out of the jeep, Fox following.

Vince trailed after them, of course.

Inside, the winery was minuscule. The walls were lined with shelves of condiments--pickles, mustards, chutney, relish. There was a cooler in the corner with several tiny tables and chairs gathered around it.

Stuart, of course, made a beeline for the wine booth across from the door. "Wine! Bring me wine!" Vince sighed and followed him, while Fox wandered over to the cooler.

The woman behind the counter raised her eyebrows. "A little far from home, aren't you, honey?"

"About thirteen million miles." Stuart gave her his most charming smile. "How many kinds of wine do you have here, darling?"

"Eleven. Three white, two blush, three red, plus one made from apples, one from cherries, and one from blackberries."

"Oh, fantastic. We'll take one of each. No, three of each."

She raised her eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Positive." He tossed his credit card onto the counter.

Vince rolled his eyes and turned away--and nearly ran into Fox, who was standing directly behind him. He was eating a turkey sandwich wrapped in plastic. He gave Vince a long, evaluating look.

Vince stared back. "What?"

"Nothing." Fox smiled, cold and hard and slightly menacing. "Is he really buying thirty-three bottles of wine?"

"Yes." Vince tried putting his hackles up, but wasn't quite sure where they were.

"What's he going to do with it all?" Fox edged closer, looming despite the fact that he was only slightly taller.

"Drink it." Vince looked Fox up and down--Jesus, his arm was missing. That's what was wrong with him. His left arm was fake. Vince sidled back to Stuart, who was gazing happily upon the growing supply of bottles lined up on the counter. "Stuart!" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"Your bloody hitchhiker's got no bloody arm!"

"Really!" Stuart eyed Fox.

"You can't drive a motorcycle with only one bleeding arm, Stuart," Vince hissed urgently. "I think he's a mad one-armed killer."

"Don't be a twat." Stuart slipped his hand into Vince's back pocket and squeezed cheerfully.

Vince pressed his lips together and looked back at Fox. Fox ate the last bite of his sandwich, his eyes on Stuart's hand. One corner of his mouth curled up.

"I'm not riding with him any more," Vince whispered, "and that's final."

* * *

  


Fox was sipping wine, sprawled across the back. Vince was abstaining and waiting for Stuart to collapse. Stuart was happily E'd and slightly drunk, singing along to the radio: "What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor?"

"Throw him in the hold with the captain's daughter, earl-eye in the morning..."

Fox sat up. "Pull over, all right?"

"Why?" Stuart said. "We're nearly to Kansas City. Seventeen miles."

"Gotta piss."

Stuart pulled over immediately. Vince slid out to let Fox out of the back seat, stretching his arms over his head to pop his spine. Beyond the road was a field edged by scrubby trees and dotted with bristly weeds.

Fox took a few steps, waited until Vince lowered his arms, and pulled a straight razor and held it to Vince's throat. "Get out of the car," Fox told Stuart. "Leave the keys in the ignition."

All Vince could think was that yet again, he was getting the arse end of one of Stuart's pick-ups. Pissing in the sink wasn't enough, oh no.

The steel was cold and hard and pressing into his throat, and Vince wasn't moving a muscle. Not a muscle. Even though his nose itched. The driver's side door slammed and Stuart walked around the front of the car, hands raised.

"Walk out into the field," Fox said.

"What are you doing?" Stuart asked.

"Stealing your jeep. What else? Go and I won't kill your boyfriend." Fox jerked his chin and Vince felt a bright sliver of pain at his throat. Stuart walked out into the field, looking back at Vince and Fox. Vince suspected he might actually be worried.

"So you're a mad thief, not a mad killer," Vince said.

"I'm both a thief and a killer. But I'm far from mad. Go, follow your friend. Try to rush me and I'll slice you both from stem to stern." Fox pulled the razor away from Vince's throat and Vince walked very quickly out after Stuart.

He stopped about a dozen meters off and watched the jeep drive away. "Fucking _hell_. That's half my wardrobe in there, Stuart!" Vince shouted.

"The bloody wine, too." Stuart ran up. He pulled his handkerchief out and pressed it to Vince's neck. "You're bleeding."

"Just a nick, I think..." Vince looked at the handkerchief. "A very long nick. Well, what now?"

"Walk to Kansas City?" Stuart squinted into the night.

Vince snorted. "Sit on the side of the road looking pathetic until a policeman drives by."

"Or that." Stuart looked at Vince. "Vince? Darling?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you _dare_ say I-told-you-so."

So Vince folded his arms and _thought_ it as hard as he could.

  


* * *

all comments are welcome.


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